


Come To Me In Dreams, and Then...

by Dori



Category: Lonesome Dove: The Series (Canada)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-31
Updated: 2006-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 08:39:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dori/pseuds/Dori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clay dreams of how that day in Hannah's house might have gone differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come To Me In Dreams, and Then...

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a dream...

He hadn't meant for this to happen. He'd thought of it, dreamed of it until the mere mention of her name had him hard, but he hadn't expected it to happen. Not like this. When she'd turned into his arms, sobbing, his only thought had been to comfort her. Her tears wrenched him; he hadn't thought, he had reacted, and only when he felt her trembling against him, felt the warmth of her in his arms, smelled her, did he realize his folly: he couldn't hold her and not kiss her. He tried to content himself with a kiss on the top of her head, but that was another mistake. Her hair was soft, as he'd imagined it so many times, and smelled of lavender, and he breathed in the scent. God, he'd wanted her for so long, but it would be dishonorable to take advantage of her now. He closed his eyes, struggling, and only realized after he'd done it that he'd kissed her hair again.

But her sobs seemed to be coming farther apart. Had she noticed? He stroked her hair; that seemed to be a more appropriate gesture. Her breath caught at the caress, and he felt his own breath stick in his throat. Surely a kiss on the forehead wouldn't be considered too forward? Before he had time to talk himself out of it, he pressed his lips against her warm skin, trying to convey through that one last intimacy all the feelings he could not, honorably, put into words. Then he tipped up her chin and did something that had never failed to stop Mary's tears--he kissed her nose.

For the most fleeting of instants, she smiled. But the smile vanished when she looked up at him. He stopped breathing. There was something in her eyes, something he'd never expected to see there, a spark of...invitation? Slowly, carefully, he leaned down and laid his mouth against hers, not thinking of honor or what was right, consumed by the need to taste her, just once.

Surely he only imagined that her lips moved against his? After a contact that was far too brief to satisfy his need, he pulled back, cursing himself for a cad and a fool, fully prepared to meet the condemnation he was sure he'd find in her eyes and beg her forgiveness, but she was already leaning forward, reaching for him, and almost unbelieving, he met her halfway.

She was tentative at first, and he had time to think that he ought to stop, but then her lips parted and her tongue traced his lower lip, and he was past caring about anything but her lips under his, her tongue in his mouth, her arms around his neck. He pulled her close, and she pressed herself against him until he was nearly mad with the taste and feel of her.

Her fingers tugged his suspenders down over his shoulders and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and all the while she kissed him with a passion that left him aching. He thrust his hips forward, desperate for more contact; she made tiny sounds into his mouth and pushed herself closer. She gave a sigh when the last of the buttons came undone. Her hands were warm when they slid inside his shirt. She splayed her fingers over his chest, and the brush of her skin over his taut nipples nearly made him come. He gasped and broke off the kiss, gripping both her hands in one of his. He felt drugged as he looked down at her mouth, swollen from his kisses, and for an instant sanity reasserted itself.

"Hannah," he whispered, but she interrupted him before he could continue.

"Oh, God, Clay, please..." She stretched upward, a desperate hunger written in her face, and he let go of her hands and pressed trembling fingers over her mouth.

"Say my name again," he said, tightening his arm around her back. "Say my name."

"Clay," she whispered against his hand, drawing the single syllable out and out and ending by kissing his fingertips one by one. He closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath before he took his hand from her mouth. He slid his fingers into her hair and looked into her eyes, finally letting all that he felt for her, all that he wanted, show in his face, holding her so that she could not help but see it.

"Again. Say it again." The words sounded ragged, and he was afraid his intensity would frighten her, but she didn't seem frightened.

"Clay," she said, meeting his eyes squarely, "Clay, Clay, Cl.."

With a groan he covered her mouth with his, taking his name from her lips and into his mouth with her breath. She whimpered and put her arms around him, returning his kiss fiercely, as though she were parched and he was water, as though she couldn't get enough of him.

Never breaking the kiss, he put one arm around her back and bent to put the other behind her knees, lifted her off the floor, and carried her to the bed.


End file.
